


Cartography/Silent Night

by boychik



Category: DRAMAtical Murder
Genre: Deep thoughts with Seragaki Aoba, M/M, UFOs, fluffy wuffy fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-16
Updated: 2013-07-16
Packaged: 2017-12-20 09:41:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,272
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/885774
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/boychik/pseuds/boychik
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clear and Aoba being cutie patooties.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cartography/Silent Night

“Clear,” Aoba says one day, “I want you to call me by my name. Aoba. Not Master.”

The words struck Clear as though a bolt of lightning had ripped through him: his eyes lit up from inside, shocked, and he shuddered like a jolt of electricity had jump-started every circuit in his willowy body. Aoba swears he can see a yellow tint to Clear’s saucer-sized eyes.

“Not Master?”

Aoba shakes his head, emphatic. “Please, just Aoba. I’m no one’s master. I’m just a person. Just like you.”

“Master,” Clear gasps, so touched is he by Aoba’s words that he has already forgotten how to articulate their meaning...

“No,” Aoba says, and lowers himself onto Clear’s hips, sharp where the flesh can’t quite conceal the feeling of metal and gears beneath, and murmurs his name into Clear’s mouth: _Aoba, Aoba, Aoba_ so that Clear can never forget.

\---

Clear is fascinated by the blue veins running through Aoba’s body, stark under the pale surface layer of skin. He walks his index and middle fingers over them, like a child might trace a handrail at school, relaxed and curious. White land. Blue rivers. He pivots at the appropriate points, where the veins fork in different directions and flow away, his fingers charting a new path over Aoba’s chest. 

“It’s a map of the world,” Clear says in all seriousness. “No, of the nation—the country of Aoba.”

Seragakiland, Aoba thinks to himself. Aobatopia. The thoughts just pop out of nowhere, it’s not like he wants them or anything... He sinks lower in bed, letting his hair spread across the pillow.

Clear’s fingers trace a light path over Aoba’s collarbone and head south. He makes up stories along the way, looking up at Aoba with sleepy eyes. _We’re on an adventure in the Republic of Aoba! It’s very exciting!_ At Aoba’s Adam’s apple: _This is the great Seragaki mountain. Only the bravest among us may traverse this land..._ At a small puckered scar near Aoba’s collarbone: _This is the bridge where Aoba saved the princess from the evil tycoon. She was wearing a mask, and a mask under that mask, but Aoba trusted her anyway..._ At a mole the color of coffee: _This is the spot where the Pirate Tae-san buried her hidden treasure! X marks the spot! But shhh, no one knows..._ When he gets to Aoba’s nipple his lover flushes and looks away.

“Why are you like this, Aoba,” Clear says, and Clear is so innocent to the potential implications of his words that Aoba cannot help but blush harder.

Clear’s fingers dance around his nipple and bounce on the tip, which hardens into a peak.

Already, Aoba thinks, mentally cursing his body for being so sensitive. Still, it’s embarrassing for me...

“Don’t you understand, Aoba,” Clear says, “this is the capital city.”

\---

Why are they looking for UFOs? Aoba doesn’t know. All he knows is that it’s damn cold outside. The wind scratches across his face. His fingers are like icicles, his lips chapped, his nose raw. Maybe Clear can’t feel the cold, or maybe he just doesn’t care.

Clear turns to him, wide-eyed, and says, “Of course it’s cold, Aoba. It’s midnight in November.”

“What!” Aoba cries. “Are you reading my mind or something, is this some robot thing or...?!”

“No.” Clear turns to him with a smile. “I possess no capabilities of mind-reading, nor flying, nor teleportation...”

“I get it,” Aoba grumbled, snuggling under Clear’s arm and tugging at the folds of fabric.

“We’ve become close, is all.” Clear’s eyes gleam at him in the dark. Aoba sticks his hand in Clear’s pocket to warm up, and suddenly shy, wants to change the subject. 

“Have you seen any UFOs yet?” he asks. 

Clear shakes his head solemnly. “None in sight, Aoba darling.”

Where did that come from?! “What have you been watching...” Aoba mumbles into Clear’s shoulder, and suddenly raises his head to laugh. The sound escapes him easily and carries toward the sky on a cold upsweep of wind.

Aoba and Clear peer up at the midnight sky. They’re sitting under Clear’s ever-present umbrella. Part of the sky is blurred by the transparent plastic, and it makes Aoba a bit dizzy staring through it—less like vertigo and more like he’s been staring at the light ripple and play across aquarium water for too long.

It’s so cold, it really is. Aoba can’t feel his jaw and he rotates it roughly to get some feeling back. It had to be midnight: the so-called witching hour is the most likely time to spot UFOs, according to Clear. Aoba has no idea what they’re even supposed to be looking for: the only picture in his mind is a 2D cutout of a gray metal box with three portholes, and a long bright tractor beam controlled by little green men who want to be taken to his leader…

“It’s beautiful...” Clear’s eyes are transfixed on the stars.

Even though the Old Residents’ District isn’t particularly high above sea level, it feels like they can see everything from their vantage point on the roof. Just Aoba and Clear on top of Midorijima, and the rest of the world keeps turning. Clear and Aoba watch over the hundreds of houses as if protecting them, the lights in the buildings glittering like candles in the bellies of lanterns.

Aoba turns to him and buries his face in Clear’s shoulder. “Yeah.”

It occurs to him that if he and Clear laid down side by side, if they could see through each other’s skin, they’d find worlds vaster and more complex than even the rooftop view of Midorijima. The blood of Aoba’s veins would be more than just lines on a map, but marvelous red rivers rushing through him, large elegant bones curling around his colorful, pulsing organs. And Clear—he’d be beautiful, a perpetual motion machine with his million delicate gears and chips and wires threading through his body. The light passes through of both of them, they’re glowing like sea sparkles in the dark, like galactic maps to guide the other home... They could reach through each other, touch truth... I love you, Aoba thinks. I love Clear...

“Clear,” Aoba says suddenly, “Clear—”

But before he can say anything, Clear jumps up. “Look!” he shouts. “A UFO!”

There in the sky hovers a huge spacecraft. Aoba blinks, hard, but it’s still there. It’s not that far off from his stereotypical estimation, actually. The UFO is shaped sort of like a soup tureen, with flashing lights that remind him of the diodes on the sides of little kids’ sneakers. A cloud passes, and the UFO vanishes only to be joined by two more when the sky clears again. They hover, glowing a bright blue Aoba hopes is benign.

“We found it.” Clear turns to Aoba with the hugest grin on his face. 

Aoba feels so dizzy, standing up on the roof, dizzy and sleepy, staring at this miniature universe sprinkled around him, on the ground, in the sky...

“We’re all UFOs,” Aoba says. “Did you know that, Clear? We’re all UFOs hurtling through the galaxy...”

“I love you, Aoba,” Clear says in a sudden seriousness, and wraps Aoba in a hug.

“Me too, Clear,” says Aoba. “Let’s go inside.”

And they do, down into the house where it’s light and warm, where they wrap themselves up in a huge afghan and rub their cold hands and noses together until they’re warm again. They talk and laugh and sigh, cast spells with their breath, kiss by the windows and watch the UFOs pass overhead in the silent night.


End file.
